What's Left Of Me
by Loca Bambina
Summary: Fatass. How many times had Kyle called him that? He'd said it daily since third grade. Usually it didn't matter- he'd receive an anti-Semitic retort and they'd both go on with their lives. But today, the comment stung. And Eric Cartman didn't know why.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, I have high hopes for this story. This chapter is obviously the routine introduction-y thing where you learn what's going on with everyone, blah blah blah, etc etc. BUT it will get good in later chapters! I promise! If you can't tell from the summary, it's a KylexCartman... it will be angsty (hopefully, if I can even write angst)... and yeah. Anyway. Time for the story and all that. Woohoo.

Any comments/questions/concerns/complaints/compliments/cookies? (how bout chocolate chunk?) Just click that little review button!

disclaimer: I don't own South Park. We've been over this before.

* * *

Stan's POV

"So you're coming over tonight, right?" I ask, twirling the phone cord around my finger.

"Yup. I'll be there. Kenny coming?"

"I think so."

"And…. Cartman?"

"Yeah, dude. Sorry. I know you two can't stand each other… but… oh, I dunno. He's my friend, I guess."

"Some friend." There's an awkward pause. "Oh, whatever. I'll deal. Since it's your birthday and all." I grin. Kyle's my best friend – he'd never ditch me just because of Cartman.

"See you tonight, then? Six o'clock?"

"Yup. See ya. Happy b-day." I hang up. _Yes!_ It's my sixteenth birthday today and instead of having a huge party, I'm just having my three best friends over for a tent-in-the-backyard kinda sleepover. Okay, maybe not my three _best _friends… (I dunno if you could consider Cartman my friend at all, despite what I told Kyle over the phone) but I have so many friends now that it would be nice to just chill with the old group.

I look at the clock. 3:14. That gives me less than three hours to get ready. I have a lot to do: get Dad to help me set up the tent (that'll take a couple of hours), have Mom go buy snacks (chips, dip, cookies, more chips, ice cream… hey, it's a sleepover!), and burn some awesome CD's. Whew.

I yell to Dad to get the tent started and dash downstairs to the home gym, which used to be Shelley's old room. It's not much – a treadmill, some weights… but it's enough on the days I can't get to the real gym. Ever since I nailed first string quarterback (freshman year, JV team. Very high expectations), I've been working out at least half an hour a day, usually more. And it's paid off – a lot. I climb on the treadmill and watch as my leg muscles flex, proud of the strength and confidence that came with my muscles. And the girls.

Speaking of girls – I don't understand them. I mean, I'm the most popular guy in school now. I've got looks, talent, even brains (though I'm nowhere as smart as Kyle), and most girls in school would kill to go out with me. Most – but not all. And I would gladly give up the dozens of girls who swoon over me just to get the one girl who doesn't – Wendy Testaburger.

I doubt she knows it, but even after we broke up way back in elementary school, I never stopped loving her. But she thinks of me as a friend – we talk about homework, TV shows, the weather… She's even asked me for guy advice before. Oh well, I guess being friends is better than not getting to see her at all. She's the reason I'm so confident now, compared to the shy little thing I used to be. Wendy's the one who encouraged me to join the football team, to study more, to smile more, and look where I am now… I owe her so much.

My watch beeps, a sign that it's 4:00. Wow, I can't believe I exercised for that long. Sometimes I just forget everything when I'm working out. I shut off the treadmill, wipe my forehead with a towel, and run to the backyard, where Dad's struggling with the tent. I help him out for a couple hours, check to make sure Mom's bought the snacks, burn those CD's, and before I know it, it's 6:00. Time to get this party started.

The first one to arrive is Kyle, of course. He's grown a lot since elementary school, too – he's gotten a little muscle from playing basketball, and he's taller (not _tall_, mind you, just _taller_), plus his hair's calmed down a bit. Kyle is in all honors and AP classes, captain of the debate team, all that nerdy stuff – if it wasn't for basketball and me being his best friend, he might've hit major nerd status in middle school. Thankfully, though, he's popular like me.

"Hey Stan," he grins. "Happy birthday!" He hands me a video-game shaped package and I tear it open. _Halo 3_! Awesome!

We chill for a while until Kenny shows up in his usual uniform, an old white t-shirt and jeans that are two sizes too big. Yeah, he shed that orange coat of his back in like 6th grade. There are few girls who don't lust over Kenny's golden hair and blue eyes – and probably some boys too. (I'm _not_ one of them!) He's still really poor, but his job at Starbucks helps. Even though I think he may drink more coffee than Tweak nowadays.

He smiles nervously at us. "Hey guys!" He holds out a Starbucks card for five dollars. "Um, it's not much, but… yeah, I wanted to get you something. Happy birthday, Stan." I smile. He really didn't have to do that… but it was nice. Kenny's a good guy.

Cartman shows up 45 minutes late. Oh well. I don't think he's changed much since elementary – he's still just as manipulative, still just as racist. If anything, he's gotten fatter. I feel kinda sorry for him – he doesn't have any friends, except for maybe Kenny – I see them hanging out sometimes. Kyle hates him with a passion, much stronger than his hatred when we were younger. It's kinda scary, really.

He hands me a wrapped box. "Hey, Stan. Hey, Kenny. Hey, Jew." Kyle glares at him but doesn't say anything as I tear off the paper. A new football! I already have like six, but I thank Cartman anyway and run inside to throw it on my bed along with the video game from Kyle and the card from Kenny. When I come back outside, they're still standing there, waiting.

"Uh," I say, now that we're all assembled in my driveway, hands buried in pockets, feet shifting nervously, a heavy, awkward silence filling the air. "Um, wanna go like play video games or something?" They nod, and we file inside. Boy, this is going to be a long night…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here it is! This is the longest chapter I've written for anything so far - something like 2,500 words. Haha, I know that's pretty short compared to the freaking epic novels some people write... but still. I'm working on it. Epic novel, here I come!

So anyway. I know I didn't put too much info in the last chapter, but I tried to get the story moving a little more in this one. Chapter 3 will be the biggie, and the scene I'm pretty much basing the story around (most important scene) so I hope you all stick with the story long enough to at least read that one.

Hmm... anything else? For those of you who have read _Secrets_, this may be just the tiniest bit similar, but that's just because most of it's from Kenny's POV. And... oh yeah, I didn't mention this last time, but I'm not big on swearing. Obviously, though, this is South Park, so I do have to cuss a bit... but I will most likely not use the f-word unless it is like the most important scene in the entire universe and the whole story will be ruined unless I use it. So expect the word _freaking_ instead. (I hope that doesn't turn anyone away from the story. If it does, please tell me - I can definitely alter my language to make it more IC! But hopefully the story works anyway.)

Thanks so much to all my reviewers so far, especially **StudentofDust** for being so awesome. : )

disclaimer: The day I own south park is the day Cartman owns an exercise machine, Kenny owns an iPhone, and Sheila owns a sense of humor.

* * *

Kenny's POV

Inside Stan's house, it's warm and quiet, the exact opposite of my place, yet it feels much more like home than where I live. Sharon smiles at us from the kitchen, where she's decorating a cake that I hope is for later tonight. Cartman eyes it hungrily, of course, but doesn't say anything. Weird. He's barely said a word since he got here five minutes ago, which could be normal for some people, but is unheard of for Cartman.

We sit on Stan's old green couch, me and Stan on the ends and Kyle and Cartman sandwiched in between. For a few minutes no one says anything, which is totally awkward. The thick silence is made even more awkward by Stan and Kyle, who are whispering furiously on their side of the couch, throwing glances every now and then at me and Cartman. Finally Cartman breaks the silence in a way only he can get away with.

"Ey! Fags! I'm bored. We gonna do something or should I just go home?" Stan sighs.

"Fine, then, Cartman. You guys wanna play video games or something?" We nod and Stan walks over to the TV, sets up the PlayStation, and pulls out two familiar black guitars…

"Guitar Hero!" grins Kyle, unable to hide his excitement. Cartman rolls his eyes.

"Can you guys get any gayer? Guitar Hero's for little kids and hippies." I've never heard of a hippie playing Guitar Hero, but that's Cartman's logic for ya.

"Listen, dude, if you're gonna have a problem with the video games I pick, then you should just leave now."

Cartman shakes his head. "No way, man. _I'm_ not gonna play, but I'll watch you two losers."

"Whatever," Kyle shrugs, picking up the guitar and putting it around his neck. "Dude, I haven't played this since I was like nine!"

"Me neither," laughs Stan. "Let's see if we've still got that knack for hitting the little colored buttons." The game turns on and Stan selects two-player mode. They pick some song from ages ago that only hard-core rock fans (in short, not me) have ever heard of, and then they start to play.

Not surprisingly, they've still got it. It's pretty amazing to watch – their movements, most of them to the beat of the song, are completely in sync. By the time the song's over, even Cartman is leaning forward on the couch, unable to feign disinterest any longer.

"Dude!" Kyle reaches over to give Stan a high-five as the crowd cheers for an encore. "One hundred percent!"

"Toldja we still had it in us." He turns around to face the couch. "Kenny, Cartman, you guys wanna play?"

"Sure," I say, hopping off the couch and putting Stan's guitar around my neck. Cartman, on the other hand, makes a big show of debating whether or not he should expose himself to something so faggy before climbing off the couch and relieving Kyle of his controller.

"Go easy on me," I laugh nervously. "I've only played this game like once."

"You're going down, poor boy," Cartman taunts. I open my mouth to shoot back an insult about either his mom or his ass – I can't decide which will make a bigger impact – but the game starts and I struggle to hit the first keys.

I'm actually pretty good at this game! I hit most of the notes, and I think I scored lots of combos – whatever those are – because the meters and stuff on my half of the screen are blinking green. Woohoo! Cartman, I notice, has barely hit a note since the song started, and is cursing under his breath at the bright red meter on his side of the screen. Kyle starts to laugh.

"Dude, you _suck_ at Guitar Hero, Cartman!"

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Cartman ditches the game and turns around to face Kyle.

"What was that, Jew?"

"I said you suck at the game! Look, you have a score of like 20!" I sneak a peek at my own score, which is somewhere in the thousands.

"Screw you, Kahl!" He yanks the controller from his neck and chucks it at the floor.

"I was just pointing out a fact, dude! But it shouldn't have been that surprising, I mean you suck at most things – "

I try to tune them out and focus on the game, but Cartman's whiny voice makes it hard to concentrate.

"You know what, Kahl?"

"What, Cartman?"

"You just think you're better than everyone 'cause you're a Jew and your mom's a bitch!"

"What the hell?"

"You heard me. You're a stupid Jew and your mom's a stupid bitch!"

"Stop calling my mom a bitch!"

"Bitch."

"Stop it!"

"Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch. Kyle's mom's a big fa- "

"AARRGH!" Kyle leaps off the couch and tackles Cartman to the ground, where the two begin rolling around, kicking and hitting and pulling each other's hair. It is now impossible to concentrate on the game any longer, so I slip the guitar off and join Stan on the couch.

"Having fun, Kenny?" he asks.

"Um… yeah."

"You're pretty good at Guitar Hero." He's trying desperately to ignore the fistfight going on at our feet.

"Uh. Thanks." This is harder for me to do, considering Cartman has mistaken my leg for Kyle's and is now biting my shin. "Dude! Get _off_!" I kick him in the face – bad move. Next thing I know I've been pulled into the fight. I can't see anything but Kyle's pale fist whizzing by my nose and Cartman's beefy one smashing into my cheek.

"STOP IT!" And just like that the fists are gone and I'm discarded on the floor like an old Chinpokomon. Kyle and Cartman are standing and brushing themselves off, and Stan is pinching the bridge of his nose so hard I'm surprised it hasn't snapped off.

"Do you guys have to fight _every time_ you see each other?"

"Yes," they answer in unison, staring each other down. Stan shakes his head and looks at me for help. I shrug. I am _not_ getting involved in another one of those fights. I check myself for bleeding – luckily, the only damage is a large cut on my knee. Kyle and Cartman, on the other hand, look as if they've just been run over.

"Listen, you guys," says Stan quietly. "Kyle. Can you please try to get along for one night? That's all I'm asking. Just for the party… please?" They look at him, then back at each other.

"Fine," sighs Kyle. "But he better not make any more of those asshole comments."

"Fine, Jew."

"Shut _up,_ fatass!! See, Stan, this is what I'm – " He stops as Cartman dashes out of the room.

"What the…?"

"Somebody should go see what he's up to," says Stan, his hand over his nose yet again.

"No way, dude. Not me."

"I'll go," I offer. This better not be one of Cartman's stupid tricks…

* * *

I find him in Stan's backyard, sitting on the steps with his head in his hands. 

"Cartman?" He doesn't look up. "Cartman, what are you doing?" I sit down next to him. I haven't been alone with him for years, not since our group stopped hanging out together.

"Go away, you poor piece of shit."

"C'mon, Cartman. You're ruining the party."

"I said go away!"

"No! Why are you doing this to us? Why are you doing this to Stan? He was nice enough to invi- "

"Do you think Kyle hates me?" _Huh?_

"Um… I don't think he _hates_ you…" I have no clue where Cartman's taking this conversation. "I think it's just more of a really, _really_ strong dislike. But he's your friend… I think…"

"That's the point."

"Cartman, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing. I don't know."

"No, seriously, dude. What's up with you today? You barely say a word, but then you nearly kill Kyle over a stupid video game. And now you're sitting here pissed because you think Kyle _hates_ you?"

"I- " He sighs. "Kenny, um, you've dated loads of girls, right?"

"Yeah…"

"Have you ever been, like, in love with any of them? Or was it just for the sex?" I shoot him a look.

"You've never dated, have you?" He shakes his head. I can only imagine why… few girls around here can stand to be in the same _room_ as the obese, racist asshole, let alone _date_ him. "Listen. Being in love is like – " I rack my brains for an analogy Cartman can relate to. "It's like finishing a bag of Cheesy Poofs and realizing there's one more left in the bag. It makes you feel so… I dunno, I can't describe it. It's like riding this incredible roller coaster with loops and twists and corkscrews and drops and all that. Your heart's beating so freaking fast… you can't even hear her name without getting a gigantic boner…" I grin awkwardly. "And you're like… addicted to the other person. You feel like if she died, you'd shoot yourself right then and there. But still, it's like… the best feeling you can get… and you don't want it to ever stop…" Cartman is quiet. "Did that make sense?"

"I think so."

"'K." I still don't get what's going on with him, but then again, no one understands Cartman at all.

"Kenny? Have you…"

"Have I what?"

"Have you ever," he gulps, "been in love with a guy?"

"I'm not gay, Cartman."

"I know that! But still… you've never…"

"No!" He _knows_ I'm straight. What is he doing now?

"Just asking." This is getting stupid. I get up and start towards the door.

"Cartman, I don't know what's wrong with you today, but you need to deal with it now or go home. Stan wants to have a good time tonight. I know _I _do. So if you're gonna sit there like that…"

"Fine." He pulls himself up and pushes me out of the way to get through the door. "Let's go find those fags." I roll my eyes and follow him inside.

* * *

We find the boys in Stan's room. Stan is on his back on the bed and Kyle's sitting on the floor, leaning against the desk. Cartman flings open the door and the old football the boys were tossing back and forth hits him in the stomach. He glares at Kyle, even though it was Stan who threw the ball. 

"Finally," mutters Stan, rolling his eyes. "Jeez, Cartman, can't you wait till the party's over to throw your little temper tantrums?"

"A _little_ temper tantrum?" smirks Kyle. "Nothing about him is _little._"

"Ey! I was _not_ throwing a temper tantrum!" He picks up the ball and chucks it at Kyle, missing him by about three feet.

"You suck at thro- "

"Kyle!"

"Sorry, Stan. I can't help myself." Stan slaps his forehead with his palm.

"Listen, guys, can we just find something that everyone wants to do? Video games, football, whatever… I'm just sick of all this stupid fighting."

"Let's play football then," shrugs Kyle.

"Cartman?"

"Whatever."

"Fine. Kenny? That cool with you?"

"Yeah, sure," I say. Better to just go with the flow.

"Football it is, then," Stan decides, grabbing his new ball from the floor. He and Kyle head out the door and Cartman and I follow.

* * *

Cartman's POV

We play football for two hours. _Two hours_. True, I don't actually run that much – that's Kenny's job – but still. Two hours. I feel like I could freaking sleep for a week.

At nine, Stan's mom leans her head out the door. "Boys, pizza's here!" Stan leaps up from where he had pinned Kenny and dashes towards the tent. Kyle and Kenny run after him. I walk – I'm so freaking _exhausted_.

When I reach the huge tent, the others are already sitting on sleeping bags eating the pizza. Kenny grins at me for absolutely no reason, chewing on a piece of crust.

"What're _you_ looking at, poor boy?"

"Shut up, Cartman," says Stan. "Eat some pizza. I got three larges just in case." I know what that means – it's code for "You're such a fatass, we knew you'd eat the whole pizza, so we got you your own. Stuff your face, pig." Screw him. I reach for a slice of sausage pizza and take a bite.

We sit there eating, no one saying a word. Kenny is positively _wolfing_ down the pizza –seriously, that kid is so malnourished it's funny. Now, see, if _I _was the one downing my fifth piece, Kyle and Stan would be up my butt with their stupid fat jokes. But no one but me would ever dare give Kenny that kinda crap.

I find myself counting everyone else's slices as I slowly eat my own. I'm determined to only have one. I'm going to show Kyle – I mean, I'm going to show _them_ that I'm not just the fat boy who can't control what he puts in his mouth. Maybe, just maybe, if I try hard enough, after a while I won't have to listen to any of that "fatass" shit. Maybe they'll finally be nice to me for once…

Kenny's on his sixth now. I think Stan's had three or four, and Kyle's eaten two. I stare at his small mouth, his bright white teeth chewing up and down on the cheese pizza. A bit of sauce squirts onto the side of his mouth and he doesn't realize it's there, doesn't try to lick it off or anything. It's seriously bugging the hell out of me. Suddenly _I_ want to lick it off. I want to take my tongue and move it all around the corners of his mouth, and maybe even _in_ his mouth…

Wait. Ew. What the hell am I saying? Did I just picture myself… kissing a boy? Did I just imagine myself kissing _Kyle?!_ Shit! _Shit!_

I feel like I'm gonna throw up. _Kissing Kyle_… that would be so wrong in so many ways… yet the picture keeps popping back into my head… my lips pressed against Kyle's, his tiny pink tongue and my large red one, dancing together inside our mouths… Everything Kenny described earlier is coming true. My heart's beating a million miles an hour and I feel like I'm on the world's fastest roller coaster. And… I pull the sleeping bag over my lap, because, even though the realization of this makes me want to puke, Stan style… I'm hard.

I can't believe this. I cannot freaking believe this. Well, actually, I'd known something was different about the way I felt around Kyle for… for the past couple of weeks, but Kenny's speech earlier confirmed it.

I'm in love with Kyle Broflovski.

* * *

A/N: comments/questions/concerns/complaints/compliments/cookies... (hopefully you have one of the above. the last one's my favorite.) click the review button and let me have it! 

Oh, and since the next chapter is so incredibly important, don't expect it up for... at least a week? Probably more. But it will be good...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: It's up, it's up! I finally updated!

Oh, I really hope everyone likes this one... I spent a lot of time on it and I think it turned out good. So far, it seems like this is my most popular story (10 reviews per chapter! Yes, I keep track of things like that... haha) so I hope you guys aren't disappointed...

Also, I lied about this being the chapter with the big scene. The story took a little turn again from where I had originally planned it (as so many of my stories do) so the "big scene" will very likely be chapter 4, and even then it won't be that big. But whatever.

Um... that's basically it, I guess... thank you **so much** to everyone who's reviewed, favorited, or alerted so far. I love you guys...

Ahem. Back to business. Enjoy chapter 3. I'm looking forward to hear what everyone has to say. :)

disclaimer: as usual, I still don't own South Park.

* * *

Kyle's POV

It. Is. HOT. I mean, c'mon, it's October! In _South Park_! And yet it's gotta be ninety degrees in here.

I reach under my hat and run a hand through my warm, sweaty curls. Maybe I should just take off the hat – then my hair could breathe. But I _hate _taking off my hat, even in front of my friends… if you have hair like mine, you'll understand.

"You okay?" asks Stan, starting in on his fourth piece of anchovy-and-pineapple pizza. I've told him a hundred times that normal people don't eat anchovies and pineapple on pizza, but he claims it tastes incredible. I'm afraid to find out.

"Yeah," I reply, smiling a little so he knows I'm fine. "Just a little hot, is all."

"Ugh, I know," moans Kenny, shoving the last little piece of crust into his mouth. "It's like a furnace in here."

"This coming from the kid who used to wear a parka in the summer?" laughs Stan.

"Summers in South Park reach a high of like 40 degrees," I remind him. "We're the stupid ones for wearing shorts." Cartman suddenly laughs. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing," he says, stretching out his legs and staring at his toes. He probably can't see them when he's standing up. I consider pointing this out but then reconsider when I remember Stan's request for us to not fight.

"Anyway," says Kenny after a few minutes, "I don't care what you guys say, I'm freaking burning." He stands up and pulls off his t-shirt slowly, his hips gyrating as he pretends to strip dance. The shirt goes flying and narrowly misses an angry Cartman, but Kenny doesn't notice. "Youwanme, donchu?" he slurs, leaning down until his face is inches from Stan's. Stan looks like he's trying hard not to laugh. "Wanna see more?" He positions his hand on the waistband of his jeans.

"Take it off!" I cheer, and Kenny winks at me.

"Will do." Stan is laughing so hard I doubt he can breathe.

"Don't- no, Kenny- " Down go the pants, and Stan's laughs turn to gasps. "Can't- breathe- stop- it- " I was right. Kenny turns as Stan begins taking deep breaths.

"You want a turn, Kyle?" He winks again and makes his way over the sleeping bags towards me.

"Don't- ahh! Get away from me, you perv!" Laughing, I scramble backwards – and find myself in Cartman's lap. Crap. I forgot about Cartman.

He's not laughing as he shoves me onto the ground. "Getcher filthy Jew paws off me!" He grabs a pillow and places it where I was just sitting.

"Way to ruin all the fun, Cartman," says Stan, who's regained normal breathing, though his face is still pretty red.

"Yeah," Kenny frowns as he searches for his clothes. He grabs his jeans off of Stan's sleeping bag and turns away from us to put them on, probably trying to avoid the awkward silence that's crushing us all.

"Whatever," mumbles Cartman, clutching the pillow to his stomach. I wonder why he's not shooting back insults, but then I remember – he knows if he fights he'll get kicked out. Is it really that important to him that he stays at the party? It's not like he's really good friends with the rest of us or anything. Why is he so intent on staying?

"D'you guys mind if I leave my shirt off?" asks Kenny, buttoning his jeans. "I wasn't kidding about the heat."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," says Stan, grabbing the empty box of pizza and spinning it on a finger as if it were a basketball. "No more strip dancing, though, please. I want to live to see my next birthday." I laugh as Kenny takes a swipe at the pizza box, knocking it off balance. Stan expertly catches it and continues spinning.

"Screw you. You liked my dancing." Kenny stretches, elongating his thin abs and showing the faintest hint of muscle. No wonder all those girls are in love with him – he's cute and fit, without being over-the-top hot. Not that I _like_ him like that or anything. No way.

"Boys! Cake!" calls Sharon from inside the house, and Stan and I scramble up from the sleeping bags. Stan is a cake addict. I remember this one time, when we were like seven, he ate more cake than Cartman did at my birthday party. Then again, that may have had something to do with the fact that Cartman had the flu…

We race across the yard and into the house, nearly knocking over Sharon as she holds the door open. Stan and I collapse at the kitchen table, giggling, followed by a breathless (and still shirtless, might I add) Kenny and, after a while, by a panting Cartman. I feel like we're in elementary school again, sharing an after-school snack and getting ready to watch Terrance and Philip, and I almost expect Stan's old dog, Sparky, to come up and start nuzzling at my leg. But instead, all I feel is Kenny's foot as he kicks me in the shin and points to the cake, grinning.

It's white. Sharon's decorated the top with a huge football, inside which is written _Happy 16__th__, Stan!_ in curly red font. The candles are arranged in the shape of a goalpost. It's a really nice cake – Sharon's always been great at this sort of thing.

We sing "Happy Birthday," Kenny in his incredible singing voice, Cartman in his flat, nasally tone, me in my… I don't really know what my singing voice sounds like, but by the look on Stan's face, I don't think I'm landing a record deal anytime soon. Sharon cuts the cake and passes out the pieces, giving me an extra-small one, because, like it or not, I have diabetes, and even though it rarely affects me, I'd rather not take the chance. Besides, too much cake can have disastrous effects. Just look at Cartman.

The cake tastes just as good as it looks, though. It's vanilla, of course, Stan's favorite, and the inside is raspberry filling. Mmm. I savor each bite slowly – I haven't had anything this good in a long time. Kenny and Stan are shoveling cake into their mouths – Stan's chin is covered in frosting – but Cartman is taking slow, careful, tiny bites. Normally I wouldn't care, but Cartman's weirdness is kinda getting on my nerves tonight, and so I decide to call him out on it.

"Don't eat too much cake, there, Cartman. You don't wanna get _fat_, do you?" He glares at me.

"Don't spend too much time with Stan, Kyle. You might become faggier than you already are."

"That was a lame insult even by your standards, Cartman." He blushes and shoves a forkful of cake into his mouth. Stan gives me a look, but it's not as stern as before – the cake's softened him up a bit.

"Are you?" says Kenny suddenly.

"Is who what?" I ask, confused.

"Are you and Stan going out?" he clarifies, cutting himself another piece of cake. Stan and I look at each other.

"_Hell no!"_ we scream at the same time. Seriously, we're asked that question something like sixty times a day. My mom asks me every morning when Stan comes to pick me up for school. It's so freaking _annoying_. It's like, what's wrong with being best friends? But no one seems to understand that…

This one time, in middle school, after Craig asked if we were gay, Stan had turned to me.

_"People really do think we're going out."_

_"I know," I replied, shoving my books into my locker. Or maybe it was Stan's locker? I didn't care; we'd been sharing textbooks and lockers for years. "It's getting kinda annoying, don't you think?"_

_"Mhmm." He twirled his bangs around his finger while I snapped the lock shut. "Kyle, do you… "_

_"Do I what?" We were usually able to finish each other's sentences, but I was having a hard time with this one._

_"Do you think…" He paused, obviously fumbling for words. "… they might be right?"_

_"What?"_

_"You know. I mean, not right, as in we're, like, g- going out, but…"_

_"I'm _not_ gay, Stan!"_

_"I know. I'm not either. It's just, we're so close… you've never thought…" I shook my head._

_"You're like my brother, dude. That would be wrong." He nodded and we walked out of the school and towards the bus stop. "Hey." I grabbed his arm. "You'd tell me if there was anything… bothering you, right?"_

_"Yeah."_

_"You know you can tell me anything, right?"_

Yes,_ Kyle!" I let go._

_"Okay."_ And that was the end of it. Three days later, he threw up in class when Wendy presented her science project, and I knew he was back to normal. But as for myself…

There are very few secrets I've kept from Stan, and one of them is that I kind of like guys. I mean, I like girls too. And guys. But I'm **not** gay. I dunno if I'm, like, bisexual or anything… how do you know? I've never kissed anyone (except for Bebe back in elementary school.) It's not like I've ever had a "crush" on a guy, either. The only reason I'm questioning it at all – my sexuality, I mean – is because sometimes I'll look at guys like Kenny or Clyde or Token and think… weird thoughts…

Aargh. I shake my head. This is a party, right? I'm here to have fun. I can sort out my thoughts later.

"We're not gay," Stan insists to a laughing Kenny. "I mean it."

"I know," Kenny giggles. "Just playing with you." He looks around the table. "Aww, Cartman's disappointed. Bet you were counting on screwing Stan, weren't you?"

"Ey! I was not- _gross_, Kenneh!" Kenny cracks up again and I look at Cartman. He really did look kind of… sad, almost… but no. Nah, it was just my imagination.

I mean, _Cartman?_ He's weird, he's fat, he's bigoted, but he's not gay. Cartman has standards, too (albeit very, very low standards) and him being gay is just as likely as him being a hippie or being Jewish. It's not gonna happen.

"Now that _that's _over," says Stan, staring pointedly at Kenny, "anyone want more cake?" Kenny and I shake our heads

"No thanks," mumbles Cartman, who's barely finishing his first piece. "I'm okay." What is _with _him today?

Stan serves himself another slice. "Fine, have it your way," he shrugs, stuffing a forkful of frosting in his mouth. "Mmm." His eyes light up. "Seriously, this is so good… soooo incredibly delicious… oh my God... it's amazing..."

Only my friends could get off on cake like this.

Kenny's POV

I swallow my last bite of cake and stare at the others. Stan is grinning wildly for absolutely no reason, Kyle looks pissed, and Cartman is absentmindedly scraping frosting off of his plate.

Hooray for normalcy.

I notice that Kyle's watching Cartman, his brows furrowed as if he's thinking hard. Stan, who I swear I would think was drunk or high or something if I didn't know any better, either doesn't see what Kyle's doing or doesn't care.

"Cartman," whispers Kyle, so softly I wonder if it was my imagination.

He doesn't look up.

"Cartman…"

"_What_, you Jewish piece of shit? What do you want from me?" He slams his fork onto his plate so forcefully it makes me jump.

"You're an asshole."

"Shut up, Jew!"

"No, I mean it. You are," he says simply.

"I said _shut up!_" I look at Stan, expecting him to cut in, but he says nothing. He's not moaning about the cake anymore, though (thankfully.)

"Why are you being so nice to me today, Cartman?" Kyle's tone isn't sarcastic – his eyes are dead serious.

"I'm not being _nice_ to _you_!"

"Yes you are," I mumble, realizing that Kyle's right. "You haven't picked one fight with Kyle all evening."

"What? That's bullshit! I- there was that one time- " Kyle shakes his head.

"You're barely saying a word to anybody, your insults suck more than usual, and you won't make eye contact, not even with Kenny." Cartman says nothing. "What do you want from me, Cartman?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he scowls.

"You're only ever nice when you want something. What is it?"

"I don't want anything from _you_, Jew!"

"Yes, you do."

"Dammit! Shut up before I freaking _kill _you!" He knocks over his chair as he stands up and runs out of the room again.

"Aww, aww," moans Stan, clutching the bridge of his nose yet again. "Kyle, what the hell was that for?"

"He's being too nice, Stan. He's scheming something, I know it."

"We haven't talked to him in months, Kye. Maybe he's changed." Stan shrugs.

"_Changed?!_"

"Yeah. People change. I changed," he says, nonchalantly rubbing his left bicep.

"Cartman will never change! He's a manipulative, racist, fat bastard and he'll always be that way!" Kyle throws his fork down and gets up. "He's incapable of sympathy! He's incapable of regret! Last I checked, Cartman's idea of 'nice' was wearing a nice sweater! The fat asshole has something up his sleeve, I know it. Yeah, right, he _changed_. Changed underwear is more like it- " He turns to leave the room and smacks straight into Cartman. "Y- you- you were outside- "

Stan rests his forehead on the table. "Shit."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It's up. Don't hurt me. Please?

I know I said this'd be a quick update - don't I always? - but it took more than a _month_. Quick I am not. Actually, I only had about five paragraphs of this written until three days ago, when I _finally_ figured out what I wanted to do with this.

Anyway - and this is important - I'm thinking all my updates on this story are going to be at least three weeks, but probably more like a month. I promise I won't forget about this one; how could I, with all the **awesome** reviews I've gotten? :D Thank you all so much - each review (and favorite, and alert) means a lot to me.

One last thing - the opinions expressed in this story by the characters in no way reflect those of the author. I'm mainly talking about Cartman's anti-Semitism; I'm Jewish myself, and I definitely don't share his views. I hope you'll all realize anything said here is purely for the sake of the story; no harm is meant towards anyone. 'Kay? Good.

I know you've been waiting (some of you, at least) and so I'll cut the crap and go straight to the story. I'm looking forward to see what you all have to say! Enjoy.

disclaimer: as usual, South Park belongs to Matt&Trey.

* * *

**Cartman's POV**

I swear I'm going to kill whoever came up with the saying "sticks and stones will break my bones but words will never hurt me." No one's ever pelted sticks or stones or crap like that at me, but what Kyle just said felt like a shitload of rocks smacking my body.

What's funny is he says this stuff all the time, sometimes to my face, sometimes behind my back, like he did just now. And yeah, sure, it pisses me off, but never like this. I seriously feel like I'm gonna cry, even though that's more of Stan's thing.

Oh, how the Jew would love to see me cry.

But I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. I can't. Even though… _even though part of me wants to break down in his arms, to hear his voice, to press my face into his hair and sob into his soft red curls. _Damn it, when will he stop wearing that stupid hat?

In the split second after he bumps into me, time stops. My brain is frozen and my mouth is dry. The only thing I can think is _don't cry, don't cry, don't cry…_ Kyle's saying something now, stuttering, and Stan's banging his head into the table.

"Good job, Kyle," mutters Kenny, probably thinking I can't hear him, or maybe just not caring. "When in doubt, piss off Cartman."

"I didn't- I didn't do it on purpose!" Kyle shouts at him. "Damn it- he deserved it! Did you hear me, fatass? You deserve everything I said about you!" He kicks me in the leg. Shit, Kyle's really mad, and I haven't even said anything. I don't _know_ what to say! I try to think of an insult – they usually come so quickly to me - but my mind's running in an endless circle.

**Kyle's POV**

I hate him. I _hate_ that asshole. I don't know why, but suddenly it feels like all the rage I've ever felt towards him is pounding in my head, against my mouth, red-hot and ready to come bursting out at any moment.

"You really think so, Jew?" he says softly. He grabs my shirt collar and tugs – not hard enough to choke me, but hard enough so that I can't pull away.

"Let- me- _go,_ fatass!"

"No." He grabs my wrist, too, and swings me around, pulling me so close I can feel his breath against my neck. I squirm, but he won't release me. Since when did he get so strong?

"Let him go, Cartman." Kenny hops up from the table. "C'mon."

He doesn't say anything, just keeps breathing on my neck.

"No? You're acting like a _fag,_ you know." Kenny takes a step closer. "Is that what you want? Is that why you're being so wei-"

"FUCK YOU!" He shoves me to the ground and advances on Kenny. "Take- that- _back,_ you poor piece of _shit!_"

"No!" Kenny yells. Stan, who's kind of just been sitting there staring, gets up and runs over to where I am. "I'm _not_ taking it back!"

Shit, dude. I never knew Kenny was so _loud._

"Take it back or I'll-"

"Apologize to Kyle!" Kenny shouts. Stan grabs my wrist and helps me up into a sitting position, even though I could've easily done it myself.

Cartman's eyes narrow. "Why the hell should I apologize to _him?_ He's a fucking _kike._"

Silence. We all stare at each other, and then-

"You did NOT!" Stan jumps up, accidentally knocking me over, just as Kenny leaps on Cartman.

"Yes I- _ow,_ dammit, Kenneh, get offa me!" Stan's face turns bright red and those muscles of his seem to bulge a bit right before he football-tackles the fatass, furiously shoving Kenny out of the way.

"_Damn- fatass- jerk- asshole-"_ Stan's fists are flying. Kenny inspects his bare sides for damage and walks over to help me up.

"Kyle, you okay?" I blink.

"Wha- yeah." Stan's knuckles connect with Cartman's left ear.

"Can't _believe_ that asshole- "

"Yeah, me neither." He gives me a funny look. "What?"

"Thought you'd be… I dunno, madder." He's right; I'd think I'd be angrier too. Three minutes ago I hated Cartman with every atom in my body – hell, I still do – but now I'm kind of emotionless as I watch my best friend beat the shit out of him.

Cartman whines, "Stan, please!" Stan grimaces and punches him once more in the face, then pulls himself up.

"Don't you ever- _ever- _say that again." Cartman mumbles something under his breath and Stan kicks him. "Dude, Kyle- "

"I'm fine." And now I don't even know what I'm thinking, let alone what I'm feeling; I get up and walk out of the room, leaving a stunned Stan behind.

* * *

It's still burning hot outside, even though it's almost completely dark. Damn October. I look for a place to go- somewhere where I can clear my head, you know?

_The clubhouse._

Stan and I built it in- what? Third grade? – and we haven't been inside since. At least _I_ haven't – who knows what he's done in there?

The boards creak as I climb up, but they hold. Up top, it's just as I remembered, if not a little smaller. I brush some dirt off of the floor, lean back against a wall, and close my eyes.

_Well._ So what did we learn today, Kyle? Cartman's an asshole, but that's nothing new. Kenny's a _hell_ of a fighter, and Stan-

I smile, picturing Stan beating up Cartman with every ounce of his strength – which is a _lot_, thanks to all that working out. He's my best friend, and it feels so good to know he's got my back, you know?

But the thing is, I didn't think he really _needed_ to do that- beat Cartman up. Sure, Cartman's the biggest asshole ever to walk the face of the Earth, but there's something going on with him… when Kenny said those things, accused him of being a fag or whatever, something happened. I don't know if it was his reaction or his eyes or his grip on me or what – Kenny hit a nerve, and for some reason I feel… almost kinda bad for him? Nah. Like I'd ever feel bad for Cartman.

Oh God, I'm so confused…

Suddenly the clubhouse shakes. Someone's coming up.

**Cartman's POV**

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

Damn Stan and Kenny.

Damn these stupid boards, too.

I put my foot carefully on the first one and it snaps right in half. Perfect. It's 'cause I'm such a damn fatass, right? Bet Kyle had no trouble getting up here.

_Kyle._ Oh, God, I really screwed things up, didn't I? There's no chance he'll ever like me… no chance at all. I mean, I don't think I can fix this. Usually I can, using manipulation or _something_, but I think this situation is pretty much hopeless.

And that's what really bugs me – not getting beaten up by Stan and Kenny, not the looks of disgust Kyle's been shooting my way all night. No, I'm pissed because it doesn't look like I'll get Kyle – and I _always_ get what I want.

I finally reach the top, breaking four boards and three branches in the process. Hmm, not bad. I take a deep breath and stick my head over the top.

Kyle's sitting against the wall with his eyes closed. His hat's slipping down his forehead, revealing a couple of bright red curls, and I want to walk over and take it off. I _need_ to walk over and take it off.

I pull myself up into the clubhouse, grunting a bit as I put pressure on my arm, which is aching from the incident with Stan, and take a step forward. The old wood gives a little under my weight. Damn. If this thing breaks, I'm suing that pussy. Hell, I should sue him anyway for being so close to Kyle.

I take another step, and the stupid boards creak. Loudly. So loudly, Kyle's eyes snap open.

"Cartman?" He doesn't sound mad or anything, just surprised.

"K- Kahl," I say, glaring. Can't let him know I'm thinking anything other than _I hate you, you damn Jew._

Oh, God, what would he say if he knew I was thinking the exact opposite?

"What are you doing here?" His voice is still level. Good.

"I-" _I came up here to check on you._ "I came because Stan and Kenny were giving me shit."

"And you thought _I_ wouldn't give you shit?"

"Uh- I can take your shit, Jew boy." I'm completely making this up. Where's evil-manipulating-racist-asshole Cartman when I need him?

"Right." He sighs. "You just gonna stand there?" Crap. He feels sorry for me. I can see right through him. Damn Jew, always taking _other people's feelings_ into consideration.

"You have a problem with me standing here?"

"Listen, Cartman." He sits up straighter and fixes his hat on his head, sending his hair back into hiding. "I don't know what you came up here to do, but I don't think it was to fight with me. Was it?"

"Of course it was, Jew!" He laughs. "What?"

"Nothing."

Now he's pissing me off. What does he know? _Does he know?!_

"Tell me now or I'll rip your fucking balls off," I growl, but it doesn't come out as strong as I'd hoped.

"Yeah, fatass. I'm real scared."

"Don't call me that!" That feeling's coming back, the feeling of- embarrassment? No, not embarrassment… something deeper. Something I haven't felt until today.

Something only Kyle can evoke…

"Don't call you what?" He raises an eyebrow, amused.

"F- fatass." Why can't I come up with a comeback? Why am I so concerned with him calling me- fatass?

It's who I am, after all.

"But you _are_ fat," he says simply, thinking the same thing I am – Cartman is the fatass, and nothing will ever change that.

And it's then that I realize what I have to do.

"Ey! Don't call me fat, you damn Jew!" The words come easier, now, because my head's suddenly cleared. _I get it._

I know how to make Kyle mine. It'll be hard, and I won't like it at all, but that doesn't matter. _I know how to make Kyle mine_.

"Cartman, make fun of my religion _one more time_ and-"

"And you'll what? Set your bitch of a mom on me?"

"She's not a bitch!" I have his attention- this is what I thrive on, this is what I live for. Kyle's attention, even if all he's doing is throwing insults at me. At least- at least he's thinking of me, right?

"Yeah, she's not a bitch, and Stan's the straightest guy I've ever met."

Kyle stands up quickly. "Stan's not gay!"

"Mhmm." This is great. Not only do I know _exactly_ how I'm gonna get Kyle, I've regained my ability to push him to breaking point.

He takes a step closer, and I can feel another boner coming on. _Damn, not now._ He's bright red with- is it anger or embarrassment or what? I can't tell, but it's making me _so damn hot._

"Don't say that about Stan," he says quietly. "Stan's my best friend, and I won't have you talking shit about him."

This is _interesting._

"Oh, is widdle Jewboy in wuv with Stanny?" I saw how pissed he got when Kenny accused him of the same thing earlier – my comment has the same effect.

He opens his mouth – he's fumbling for words – and now's my chance. Phase One of Cartman's Greatest Plan.

I take a quick step forward and kiss him on the mouth.

_Oh God, it feels incredible…_

Gotta make it short, Cartman. Cut it short. He can't suspect anything- can't know…

_But it feels so good…_

No. Got to stick to the plan.

And so after a few seconds – just a few – I shove him to the ground and make a big show of wiping my mouth. "Fuck, you got your Jew spit all over me."

"What the _hell, _Cartman?" He's so cute when he's confused.

"Knew that would shut you up," I laugh, as if this was my plan all along.

"_Sick,_ dude!" I laugh again.

"Oh, Kahl, _Kahl._" I've got him. Phase One, complete.

"_Sick!_" He mumbles something to himself as he stands up and shoves past me towards the clubhouse entrance.

_Shit._ He's gonna go tell Stan. Stan can't know – Kenny can't know – it's too early in the plan.

But how do I stop the Jew from letting it slip?

"Kahl, you're not gonna tell _them_ about this, are you?" I keep my voice strong – strong and commanding, the way I've trained myself to do.

"Um- uh-" He wants to, of course. He can't wait to tell Stan and Kenny all about what a fag Fatass is.

But I have different plans for Jewboy…

"We wouldn't want _Stan_ thinking you're _in love_ with me, would we?" He clenches his fists. _Yes._

"I _hate_ you, you fucking asshole."

"I know, Kahl. I know." He disappears over the side of the clubhouse.

I want him _so fucking much._

**Stan's POV**

I sit down in a kitchen chair and take a deep breath. Kenny pulls a chair over and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"You did a good thing, dude." I shake my head.

"He- he doesn't even _care._" Why is this bugging me so much? It's not like I murdered someone for him – I beat up Cartman. So what?

"He does care," says Kenny softly. "He hates Cartman – despises him. I'm sure he was just too caught up in his own anger-"

"Hey, dudes." Kyle steps into the room. His face is flushed – probably from fighting with Fatass.

"Don't say anything weird," whispers Kenny to me, and then gets up and offers Kyle his seat. "You look beat, dude."

"I- I am." An awkward silence fills the air. Oh, I knew this party wasn't going to go well…

Kenny looks at me, then back at Kyle. "So is Cartman out?"

"Yeah," I say, nodding. Kyle doesn't say anything. "Where is he, dude?"

"Clubhouse."

"That old thing? It held him?" Kenny asks, smiling. Why is he so _good_ with people? It's not fair. Kenny never has any awkward silences – he knows how to keep a conversation going.

"Yeah…" Kyle sighs and looks away. He has something on his mind, and I want to know what it is. But Kenny said not to say anything weird…

You know what? Screw Kenny. I'm not him, I don't know how to say the right thing, so I'll just say what needs to be said.

"Kyle, what happened? You're acting kinda strange… is something wrong?" He bites his lip.

Kenny picks up on my cue. "Is it Cartman? Did he say something? I can kick his-"

"It's nothing." He shakes his head. "Nothing." He looks at me. "Stan-"

"What, dude?"

"Kick Fatass out."

"Of course." The bastard ruined my party. I gave him a chance, you know? The four of us haven't hung out in ages – I hoped something would change. I hoped we'd be able to make it at least through the night.

I guess I was wrong.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I don't know if I like this story any more; the beginning is disgustingly cliché. I'm going to try and turn it around - it's got a stronger plot now - but it may be a lost cause. Sorry. D:

(ew, this one's short.)

* * *

Stan's POV

Well. It's Monday again.

I don't hate Mondays, actually, not like most people do. Sure, the freedom's over, the torture begins, blah blah blah. But there's good stuff about Mondays, too – seeing all your friends, getting out of the house, having something to _do._ Believe me, being cooped up for two days with the perpetually drunk "Coolest Dad in South Park" is _not_ the way anyone should have to spend a weekend. It's gotten better since Shelley left (I don't come to school covered in bruises, for one), but still. At three in the morning, the last thing anyone wants to hear is Randy-freaking-Marsh belting out "Carry On My Wayward Son." It's just not right.

Anyway, even after the lack of sleep, I'm relieved to be back at school. My party was pretty much a disaster – after we kicked Cartman out, there was this air of awkwardness that just kinda stayed there all night. It was fun, of course, but it could've been funner.

"More fun, Stan, not funner." I turn around and there's Kyle, trudging up to the bus stop, his backpack hanging off his left shoulder. _Wait… did he just read my mind?_

He sees me giving him an odd look and laughs. "You were talking to yourself again. It's kinda creepy, dude." I shake my head and he puts his hand on my shoulder. "Hey, listen, I had loads of fun at your party. Don't blame yourself for Cartman. He's an asshole."

"He is?" I ask, faking surprise. Kyle grins. "Nah, it's okay. I'm glad you had fun."

"Good," he says, and drops to his knees in the snow, zipping open his backpack. "While we're waiting for the bus… I got you something, dude. Consider it part two of your birthday present."

"You didn't hav-"

"Hey, hey. Don't say anything until you see it." Kyle pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. "It's not anything big… but my dad said he could get them and I totally thought of you…"

I open the envelope. There are two slips of paper inside – three thin, colored, rectangular slips of paper…. tickets.

I pull out one of the tickets and nearly shriek.

"_Dude!_"

"Yeah?" he asks, smiling.

"Tickets to the _Broncos_?!" I fight the urge to completely throw my arms around Kyle – but that would be gay. Instead, I grab his shoulders and shake. Hard.

"Ah! Dude, stop! Stan!" I let him go and he laughs. "I'm glad you like it. I was thinking you and I could-"

_Wendy._ I'll take Wendy. It's the perfect opportunity, the perfect chance.

"Thanks, dude!" I laugh. "I'm sure she'll be so excited-"

"She?" Kyle asks, but the bus pulls up and the driver starts screaming and I don't have time to tell him my plan.

-

School is boring, as usual. I barely pay attention in Biology – then again, who does? – because I'm almost literally bouncing around in my seat. I mean, the _Broncos!_ The Denver Broncos! And I'm _going!_ With _Wendy!_

…well, I haven't asked her yet. I mean, she'll most likely say yes, as we're pretty good friends (and it's the _Broncos_), but still. I'm a little afraid she'll think of this as… like, a date. It's not.

Okay, it is. Even though she has a boyfriend. It's still okay, right?

The bell rings for lunch – finally – and I shove my stuff in my backpack and get the hell out of that classroom. There's a rush to get to the cafeteria, but I'm not buying lunch today, so I pass the line and go straight to an empty table in the middle. At the beginning, when I first landed the football team, I sat with the other players – the popular kids, you know? It was awesome – so many people, so much going on at once… but Kyle didn't like it. He sat with Kenny for lunch the rest of that first year, but Kenny hangs out with some pretty weird people, and I don't think Kyle was too happy. So for sophomore year, I've been eating lunch with just him and a few other kids. It's kinda nice, really, and it's not like they're unpopular or anything.

"Whatcha got today?" Kyle asks, swinging his leg over the seat and sliding down next to me. His tray doesn't have much on it, just a taco and some greenish macaroni-and-cheese – Kyle's never been a big eater, and besides, the cafeteria's food is pretty crappy.

"You got through the line pretty quick," I say, dumping my bag of Fritos onto his tray. He smiles.

"Eh, yeah, Henderson let us out early." He takes a bite of the taco and some weird brown stuff squirts out the back end.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you." Kenny slips into the other end of the table and rips open his lunch bag, revealing what appears to be a ham sandwich. "Heard a rumor the food's made of shit."

"No kidding," says Kyle, staring at the taco.

"No, seriously, like _shit_ shit."

Kyle looks like he's about to throw up. I scoot back a bit.

"Anyway, what're you doing here, Kenny?" I ask. "Sluts get too slutty for you?"

"Shuddup." He rips into the ham sandwich with his usual Kenny-force. I'm telling you, with the way he eats, if the kid weren't dirt poor and starving, he'd be fatter than Cartman by now. "I'm here with news."

Ah, Kenny. South Park High's own Gossip Girl. He's got something on everybody – most definitely something on me, though obviously I don't know what – and he knows how to use it. Kenny's generally pretty good about keeping secrets, but he'll spill for Kyle and me.

"What kinda news?" Kyle asks, leaning forward. His sleeve brushes the top of the mac-and-cheese and he groans.

"Don't think it'll interest you. This one's for Stan." Kenny winks and I hold my breath, because it's probably about-

"Wendy?" Kyle asks, rolling his eyes. Kenny nods.

"Broke up with Token."

"You're kidding me," I say, because he probably is. Wendy and Token have been steady for years. I mean, _years._ Since we were like, _nine._ Their breaking up is pretty much impossible.

"Nah. It's for real." Kenny takes another huge bite of his sandwich. "'parently Token's been hooking up with his masseuse on Thursday afternoons for, like, ever. Wendy flipped."

"I- I don't believe it."

"Neither do I," Kyle says. "Token has a masseuse?"

"Not _that_." I shake my head. "They can't- she can't-"

"Look behind you," Kenny smirks. I do, and there she is. Her hair's messy and her cheeks are smudged with runny makeup, but Token's not hanging off her shoulder, and this makes her ten times more beautiful.

She looks up and sees me, and I make a space on the bench without really realizing it. She's going to tell me about the breakup, I know it. I mean, I've always spilled to her whenever my relationships go bad, and it's my turn to be the shoulder she can cry on.

Except I don't really want to hear about Token. I don't want to hear about the good times and the bad times and that time his mother told that embarrassing joke at dinner. I _want_ to tell her about the Broncos game and have her smile her perfect Wendy-grin and tell me I've always been the one for her, that Token was just there to make me jealous, that my name is written in girly font all over the inside cover of her notebook. But obviously that isn't going to happen; the best I can hope for is that she'll come over here and sit next to me.

Of course, Cartman sits down next to me instead.

Thank you, world.

"Go away, dude," Kenny murmurs reflexively. Across the cafeteria, Wendy shakes her head and turns to sit with the girls.

"Ah, Kenneh, you don't mean that-"

"Yeah, I do." He swallows the last bite of sandwich. "Get the fuck out. We don't need you here causing problems."

"Why would you think I'd do that?" Cartman says. "Stan, you want me here, right, Stan?"

I shrug. "No."

"Asshole."

"Fatass."

"Pussy."

"God, Cartman, when will you learn to _shut the hell up_?" Kyle stands and slams the bowl of untouched macaroni onto Cartman's tray. "Here. You can have this, you fucking pig." He grabs his books and walks away.

"Goddamnit," Cartman mutters, stabbing the congealed mac-and-cheese with his spork, and it's only now I notice that there's nothing else on his usually full tray.

"You gonna go after Kyle?" Kenny motions his head towards the door. "I'll stay here and defuse the bomb."

"What bomb-"

_"BOMB?!_" Tweek shouts from halfway across the room. "_Bomb in the cafeteria! Jesus Christ! Get out! There's a bomb-"_

"Damn it, Tweek, it's a _metaphor!_" Kenny yells out. Tweek sits back down, muttering, undoubtedly, about metaphors being too much pressure. "So, yeah, anyway. Go get Kyle, dude." Kenny sighs.

"Okay." I stand up. "Have fun."

"I'll try."

I take the long way out of the cafeteria so I can pass by Wendy's table, but she's crying to Heidi and Bebe - there's _no_ way I'm getting involved with that. I head out the door instead. I don't know where the hell Kyle could be, and I really don't feel like looking for him. Seriously. I hate when he gets all pissy like this. Usually it's 'cause his mom's riding him about homework or college or world domination or something stupid like that, and he feels the need to take it out on all of us.

The halls are empty, and the silence is relaxing. There's no one hanging off my shoulder now, no one calling out my name. Being popular is totally stressful, believe me. But now… right now it's just me and the dirty white floor and the peeled stickers all over the lockers, and it feels pretty nice.

The whole day's going pretty well, actually, now that I think about it. Whoever said Mondays are the worst was some sort of druggie.

"Hey."

I know it's Kyle before I've actually registered that someone's speaking to me. Just like him to find me when I'm the one on the search.

"Sorry for, you know, just leaving like that. I needed to breathe." I hate that he thinks he has to explain himself. "I'm having a rough day. Mondays, you know."

I don't tell him that today is the happiest I've been in a long time. "Yeah. I know. Sucks."

"And Cartman just kind of…" He shakes his head.

"What?"

"I dunno." Kyle sighs. "It's just been a bad day."

"Oh." Normally I'd ask what was going on, what was making him feel so crappy, but I don't want anything bringing me down. I'm not going to spoil what could be the first day of my life with Wendy Testaburger. Hey, once I've got her, I'll be there for Kyle whenever he needs me, promise. But now… there's too much at stake. Too much on the line. Today – just for today – I've got to put myself first.

So I do.

"I have something that will cheer you up," I say. "Help me practice asking Wendy out?" It's only a half-lie; Kyle loves making up dialogue and figuring out scenarios and all that. Maybe I don't have to neglect all my best friend responsibilities here.

Kyle looks up. "Help you… practice asking Wendy out."

"Yeah. To the game," I remind him. Like he's forgotten _that_.

"The one I gave you tickets to?"

What's with the stupid questions? "Yeah, dude. It's the perfect date."

"A… date. With Wendy." He frowns."To the Broncos game _I _gave you tickets for."

"Dude, seriously, Kyle, what's up?"

He shoves me – softly, but still enough to send me stepping backwards – and turns around to walk down the hall, his semi-new Nikes making the most aggravating squeaking sounds against the floor. "You're such a bastard, Stan Marsh."


End file.
